


The Spectrum of Life

by PurpleGirl7



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Autism, Bigotry & Prejudice, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Character Development, Death Eaters, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Drama, Enemies to Lovers, Everyone Is Gay, Explicit Language, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Harry Potter & Severus Snape Friendship, Lesbian Character, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sexual Tension, Slash, Strong Female Characters, Top Harry Potter, Torture, Violence, in the trio, they were just close female friends who lived together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27067291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PurpleGirl7/pseuds/PurpleGirl7
Summary: Harry and Draco both want to stay apart from one another, but life keeps throwing them together and reminding them about the past. Then, years after his death, Snape’s Will is discovered, and it is down to them to find the mysterious woman that Snape wants to leave everything to.Depiction of Autism.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy & Original Female Character(s), Draco Malfoy & Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter & Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Hermione & Neville & Luna & Draco & Pansy & Harry & Ron & Blaise, Hermione Granger/Luna Lovegood, Neville Longbottom/Ron Weasley, Salazar Slytherin & Original Female Character(s), Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 16





	1. Wonderland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is quite a complex story in terms of topics it handles! I'm autistic myself and have been wanting to write such a character in a fantasy type setting! It also deals with PTSD and Alcoholism. This story comes with a warning of offensive language -- Draco will be using some very derogatory terms up until a certain point, which includes the 'R' word, but this story is about progression, so he will face consequences for his actions and learn from things!
> 
> I also want this to educate people and open their eyes to Autism and how most people have a standard view of it -- as I once did -- rather than actually looking into the different forms of it and how it can manifest in people!
> 
> Other than that, this story is intended to be somewhat fun despite the topics, and there's a variety of relationships to keep everyone interested -- I hope :D
> 
> [Song: Anson Seabra - Welcome to Wonderland](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NN6J-aYI0d4)

Chapter One: Wonderland

_20th September, 2002._

“She’s been in the garden for four hours now,” Dr Mayson looked away from his watch and glanced back out the large window. His assistant stood beside him with a frown on her face. “What happened during your session?”

“Nothing,” she flipped through the papers attached to her clipboard. “I followed your instructions word-by-word and she answered each question normally. I was ready to come and confirm that we should appeal for her to be discharged to the board, but she disappeared into the garden muttering to herself about tending to the roses.”

Dr Mayson hummed in response and rubbed his grey beard. “My life goal is to help everyone who has Autism in every way I can; however, her case continues to perplex my expertise.”

Olga tucked her blonde hair behind her ear. “It’s because she fits into the category of being perceived as normal.”

“Exactly,” he sighed. “Autism is a spectrum and she came to us with mild symptoms that dominated her life, yet she continues to have these moments of...insanity.”

“The cognitive tests came back clear,” she explained. “I’ve asked them to double check and there’s no anomaly in her brain structure. She has Autism, no one can argue otherwise, but nothing explains these episodes she keeps having.”

Dr Mayson walked over to his desk and opened up his patients file. “There are gender differences when it comes to Autism, both of us are experts on that matter. Since she is female, sufferers tend to adapt and mask their symptoms of Autism by copying the non-sufferers around them. She came to us fully masked, and seemingly able to function normal in stressful situations. Her trigger is her fear of abandonment, which brings forward her autistic traits, but those traits still aren’t a cause for her needing to be institutionalised any longer. We know what landed her here, but she’s passed that point now.”

Olga took a seat opposite him and rubbed her temple. “We’ve observed her for four years now; on paper she’s considered a mild risk to herself and society, so there’s no reason to keep her here.”

“I can agree to that,” Dr Mayson relaxed in his chair and poured himself a glass of water. “However, there has to be something we’re missing. It’s not schizophrenia. She keeps talking to someone, but nothing about her biology makes the connection to schizophrenia.”

He took a sip of his drink to clear his dry throat. The pair spent most of their time having conversations like this about their patient. They spoke in full explanations in the hope that the other would pick up on something within the information given that could point to an answer. Yet, nothing new ever appeared. On paper, there was no reason to keep her here. She should be seeing a specialist once a week to help her create coping mechanisms, other than that, she should be able to function in society with generic support.

Yet, here she was in a mental hospital.

“We’ll never get to the bottom of this,” Olga sighed looking at her boss with tired eyes.

“Don’t lose faith, Olga, we’ll find a way to help her,” he said. “Did you research the name of the person she keeps talking to?”

Olga nodded. “Yes. There are no records of anyone called Salazar that I can find in relation to her family. However, I won’t dismiss that it might be a name she once heard at the orphanage, since there are hardly any records of her family's existence. I cannot prove it or deny it.”

“Very well,” he finished off his drink. “It may be another dead end, but let’s not lose hope.”

“It’s just hard…” Olga felt tears warming her eyes.

Dr Mayson softened at the sight of her sad face. “Don’t cry, love.”

“I can’t help it,” she wiped away her fleeing tears. “She can go from talking to me about the latest fashion trends and asking me about my day to running around and talking to Salazar. Funnily enough I consider her my friend, we talk and gossip about things that I talk about with my best friends. I could easily identify her autistic characteristics, but she’s good at hiding it so much that a non-professional would call her a liar if she told them that she was autistic.”

“We’ll figure this out,” he reached over and grabbed her hand. “Just keep treating her the way you normally do; she enjoys her sessions with you more than she enjoys mine.”

“That means a lot.”

The pair went over all of the paperwork on his desk. They spent a lot of time re-reading the same information trying to catch something they might be missing. 

Dr Mayson was one of the best psychologists in Britain, and the very best in his specific treatment of Autism. He hated that they had to go with the label of mental hospital or institute. All of his patients were autistic; all of them were extreme and a danger to themselves and others. 

Sadly, a lot of them were men whose families could no longer cope. However, he was always around to remind them that he cared like he was their family. He’s contributed so much to the field of Autism, and his recent contributions are towards female Autism. All of the old research was mainly performed on young boys, and the psychologists just assumed that it would be the same in girls but less common. However, he’d discovered that not only was that statistic untrue, the form of Autism was different. This meant that so many females were going undiagnosed, and the only time it would be realised was when they became mentally exhausted from unconsciously masking their symptoms.

Dr Mayson returned to the window that overlooked the garden, then a smile grew on his face. Veronica was sitting beside Ben watching him organise his rock collection into size order. She was speaking to him although he was non-verbal, but she’d picked up long ago that he liked people talking to him without hoping for a response. Nothing about her screamed Autism. And that was why society mistreated her.

He’s spoken to people who have a stereotypical view of Autism: male and non-verbal. There are people who think there’s a look of Autism, and those that think they help by saying “well, we’re all a bit autistic aren’t we.” The truth is that Autism is a spectrum, but it’s not a linear line. It doesn’t go from ‘normal’ to Autism. He always uses the example of a colour wheel. The wheel is Autism as a whole but the variety of colours are different forms of it. To be autistic it has to affect a person's day-to-day life.

Veronica came to them after having a mental breakdown and trying to kill herself in a public setting. She’d been sent to a non-specialised mental hospital where she underwent hours upon hours of therapy until he was called in. He recognised the signs of Autism, and he immediately became fascinated by her. She was very good at hiding her symptoms, but it had slipped so far into delusional that she had no idea who she actually was. She often came to him to tell him that she’d discovered why she acted a certain way or said specific things, and it was usually because she’d witnessed someone get a reaction from someone else when doing it so she mimicked their actions. It was only now while she was in the institute that she was slowly discovering what it meant to be herself. As the months went by she tended to show her autistic traits and express her anxieties, but she could easily slip into masking in the blink of an eye.

She truly was fascinating, but he needed to focus on helping her. She was fit to go back into society and live her life, and he believed her to be capable of such great things. Her intelligence was unimaginable, and he hoped he could get her onto a course that would lead her to university. 

Before her breakdown, she had worked in a pub in the West Midlands. She’d only mentioned it once but refused to answer any questions about her time there when pushed to in therapy. Olga always commented on the fact that she must have some bad memories about the place, but the thing is with people like Veronica is that they only tell you what they want to. Putting her through therapy is never about trying to dig deep and get her to admit to traumatising things; she will always go into that room and only speak about the things that she wants to, and no amount of pushing or reverse psychology would get her to admit anything she didn’t want to. 

Dr Mayson walked back over to his desk and smiled down at Olga. They’d been studying Veronica closely together for three years now, and it felt like they’d never get close to cracking the case. Their theories always ran wild then hit a wall, and all the folders that surrounded them had no leads and proved that she was ready to leave the institute. 

But he couldn’t let go of her. He needed to know why she talked to herself, and he needed to know who Salazar was.

A knock sounded and he beckoned the person in. It was one of the trainee psychologists who mainly stuck to walking around the institute and socialising with the patients.

“Zara, how can I help you?”

The young psychologist looked around nervously, then came to a stop in front of his desk. “I was just standing near the door that leads to the garden and I was listening to Veronica talk.”

This immediately caught both himself and Olga’s interest. 

“Proceed.”

“She was talking about her favourite places to go and visit, when she mentioned a pub called The Redherring Inn. I looked it up and there’s two pubs in England called that and one’s in the West Midlands and the other down South.”

Dr Mayson looked down at Olga’s fast moving hand as she wrote down everything that Zara was saying. He placed his hand on the back of Olga’s chair and stared at her intently.

“Was that all?”

“No…that wasn’t the strange thing, others have heard her mention the pub before, but the reason I looked it up is because she mentioned someone else for the first time. I’m not sure if it’s helpful to you, but she talked about a man called Severus Snape. She said he always came to visit her in the pub where she worked, and sometimes when she finished he would invite her to have dinner with him. She said to Ben that’s why the pub was the best place she’s ever been, because he was there. Until...”

“Until what?”

“That was it. She didn’t carry on and just stared angrily at the ground. Her eyes twitched and everything. My guess is that she doesn’t like him anymore.”

Olga turned to look up at him. “Who the hell is Severus Snape?”

Dr Mayson could only shrug in response. That name had never come up before. He hurried over to the window and reeled back suddenly at the sight below him. Veronica was standing alone near the fountain, staring up at him like she’d been waiting for him the whole time. She smiled an innocent sort of smile, then turned away and started talking to thin air. She tried to hit whoever she thought she could see, then proceeded to run around the fountain. Olga came up beside him and stared down at Veronica. 

“Thank-you for bringing this to our attention, Zara,” said Dr Mayson, then he looked at Olga. “Track down this Severus Snape for me.”

“I’ll get to it right now.”


	2. Will and Testament

Chapter Two: Will and Testament

_ 24th September, 2002. _

Was Harry acting like a petulant child? Yes. Should he be trying to be mature during a difficult time? Yes. Would Hermione’s long lecture of reasons why he should keep his mouth shut, stop him from scowling across the room at the blond ferret? Absolutely not.

He didn’t want to be here. Not out of boredom but because it was too painful. He’d been summoned alongside Draco-bloody-Malfoy to listen to Professor Snape’s Will. It had only been those two called forward but both parties had brought back-up just incase. 

Hermione stood behind his chair and kept grabbing his shoulder hard to misdirect his glares. Malfoy had Pansy standing behind him, and Harry’s minute glare didn’t stand a chance against the two Slytherins returning his scowl. 

They were in the Headmistress' office, and McGonagall was sitting behind her desk watching the man from the Ministry look nervously between the pair. It had been four years since Professor Snape died, and it was only through McGonagall redecorating her office that she’d discovered the Will hidden in a box. 

Harry has long moved on from the memory that was Severus Snape. He had no portrait or grave, so Harry had nothing to linger on to. He’d buried all thoughts of him into the darkest corners of his mind and refused to ever go there. 

He’d just finished his Auror training and was ready to go out onto the field alongside Ron. Hermione had intended to train to become an Auror, but after publishing an article to help boost sales for The Quibbler, she’s never looked back. The Quibbler's eccentric nature was now in almost every wizarding home thanks to Hermione, and Luna loved that she got to share her knowledge of unknown creatures with the country.

The only downside to Harry’s good life was that he still couldn’t escape Draco-bloody-Malfoy. He’d evaded imprisonment — the same couldn’t be said for his parents — and had somehow made it onto the Auror training programme. He and Ron had tried their hardest to stay away from each other, but the childish schoolground fighting continued through their training. Harry could only hope that they weren’t put into the same Auror team. 

“Shall I begin?” The official said. “I’m Reginald Fern, and I will be reading out the final Will and Testament of Severus Tobias Snape. Now, do I have Harry James Potter and Draco Lucius Malfoy present?”

“Yes,” said Malfoy.

Harry glared at him again, then Hermione hit his head.

“Yes,” replied Harry through gritted teeth. 

“Good,” muttered Reginald. “This Will has not been opened as of yet. All that was written on the envelope was what it was and both of your names. Thanks to the Headmistress this has been kept away from wide Ministry knowledge since they would undoubtedly want to scan his Will for any dark artifacts or magic. I have faith that he’s not harbouring anything that certain Ministry members would use to slander his name.”

Harry heard the blond git sigh and he tried to glare at him again but Hermione forced his head to remain facing towards Reginald. He would only admit later on that he was thankful Hermione was around to stop him acting like a child.

There was just something about Malfoy that infuriated him. He had so much anger and hate from the war that he hadn’t acknowledged, and seeing Malfoy all the time caused his thoughts to scramble. Hermione had tried to push him towards therapy, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to venture into the dark parts of his mind. He wasn’t sure he would ever be ready.

Especially with Malfoy around him all the time.

_ I just want to wrap my hands around his neck and— _

“Are you both ready?”

Harry locked eyes with McGonagall and she flashed him a friendly smile. Over the years since he left Hogwarts, they kept in touch through the occasional letter and chance meetings. He’d tried to distance himself from anything to do with Hogwarts, and so far it had worked — apart from the ugly ferret that he saw five days a week. 

He felt anxious about being back in Hogwarts again, all of the bad memories outweighed the good. When McGonagall met him and Hermione at the gates he had wanted to run. Every corner they turned reminded him of a fallen friend and families left grieving. Yes, he still had Ron and Hermione, but that was all he had left. 

There was no immediate blood relations left behind, and all he’d ever wanted was a family — a true family.

“Are you all right?” Hermione whispered by his ear, and he reached up and squeezed the hand she’d placed on his shoulder.

He wasn’t all right. He could admit that. Snape was a complex man who made Harry feel complex things. He absolutely adored Remus and Sirius because they were close to his mum and dad, and learning they weren’t these saintly beings he’d made them out to be was hard to face. But nothing in this world could have prepared him for having to face up to the fact that his cruel potions Professor had a side to him that cared for Harry — that cared for his mother. That had been the hardest thing to face. Accepting someone you loved for their faults was easier than accepting someone you hated and appreciating the good that they’ve done.

Harry often dreamt of that night in the Shrieking Shack. He often dreamt of watching the whole structure burn to the ground. The body was unidentifiable between the charred mess that was left behind, so all that remained in his memory was his name on the memorial in Hogwarts’ courtyard.

He glanced over at Malfoy again and saw that his jaw was twitching from how tightly he clenched it. His head snapped to the side to lock eyes with him. For a brief moment neither of them glared, they just stared blankly at one another. However, Harry could see the sadness in his bright eyes. He could see the anger and hate. Before he could muster up a scowl, Reginald opened up the envelope.

Harry looked at him and held his breath when Reginald unfolded the piece of paper. The moment his eyes landed on the words inside, the old man froze. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion then he sighed and looked back at McGonagall. 

“What is it?” she asked.

“He hasn’t written it correctly, but it’s definitely his Will,” said Reginald.

“OK, so what’s the problem?” replied Hermione, and Harry watched Pansy roll her eyes.

Reginald straightened out his frock coat then stood up straighter. “The problem is that this Will has nothing to do with either of you men.”

“W-What?” Harry stammered.

“Then why are we here?” Malfoy rubbed a hand over his face, and Harry paused for a moment because of the tired look that covered his face. What did he have to be exhausted over?  _ All he does is spend his father's fortune and live in a mansion.  _

“What does it say?” asked McGonagall as she pushed herself to her feet.

Reginald cleared his throat. “I, Severus Tobias Snape, hereby leave all my possessions, property and coin to, Veronica.”

“Veronica who?” Hermione said.

“It just says Veronica,” said Reginald. 

“That’s it?” Malfoy got up from the chair. “That’s all he had to say?”

“I’m afraid so, son,” Reginald put down the Will. “It’s dated the 2nd May, 1998. The day he died.”

“Who the fuck is Veronica?!” Malfoy yelled and whirled around to stare at Pansy. “Some gold digger must’ve got her claws into him—“ 

“His wealth isn’t big,” Reginald interrupted. 

“Why does that matter, Malfoy? Are you jealous you don’t get any money?” Harry spat as he got to his feet. The pair locked eyes once more, and before Harry could race towards the ferret and hit him, Hermione grabbed his arm.

“Harry, now isn’t the time,” she said.

“He was my Godfather, Potter! I expected something, whether it be money or a final good-bye note!”

Harry was ready to hurl another insult at him, but he faltered at the sight of tears in his eyes. Something painful laced around his heart, and it suddenly occurred to him that perhaps Malfoy hadn’t mourned Snape yet. That perhaps he too had lost a lot of people during the fight, including his Godfather who had always done what he could to help push him onto the right path. 

Harry looked away from him, unable to handle the vulnerability he saw on his face. It didn’t suit him and he didn’t like the way it made him feel. 

“My guess is that he wants you two to find this Veronica,” Reginald said.

“But there are thousands of Veronicas in this world,” added McGonagall. “It’s impossible.”

“Yes, so that may be,” Reginald sat down on the edge of the desk. “But my guess is that Severus believed you could do the impossible.”

“This is stupid,” muttered Malfoy. “I refuse to get caught up with this mess. Severus never mentioned a woman called Veronica, not to me or my father.”

“Why would he tell you about his personal life?” Harry retorted. 

“Because he would tell me something like that!” He snapped back.

“Oh, really?” 

Malfoy made a run to come over to him, but Pansy grabbed him. The pair could easily throw hexes at one another, however there was something within them both that wanted to beat each other up with their bare hands. And one day Harry would get to do that, and he couldn’t wait for them to be alone in a room without anyone to stop them.

He truly hated him.

“He…” Hermione scratched the side of her head. “He might have told you a lot of things, but he certainly wouldn’t tell you about this woman if she was a Muggle.”

“Oh…” Malfoy stared at her with wide eyes, and Harry turned to look at her.

“You make a valid point,” said Reginald. “It doesn’t explain why she doesn’t have a last name.”

“Which furthers my point that she might be Muggle. Even orphans within the Wizarding World have a last name given to them, she might be a Muggle orphan without one or he might never have asked.”

“Are you implying that my Godfather left everything to a woman he hardly knew?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders at Malfoy. “I’m theorising. I have no idea how Snape’s mind worked. He always was a man of mystery. But it makes sense that she’s Muggle, if Veronica was a witch he would’ve been spotted soon enough meeting her. However, it’s easier to see a Muggle in Muggle spaces where there’s no magic folk about.”

“I think you are right,” said Harry. “Thank-you for coming.”

Malfoy scoffed and Harry glared at him again.  _ I swear to Merlin I’m going to throttle— _

“I think you should take this,” Reginald walked over to Harry and handed him the piece of paper. “When you find this woman, alert me and I can bring her everything she needs to access his possessions.”

“I will,” said Harry.

“You will?! What about me you obnoxious piece of shit?!” Malfoy tried to come for him again but Harry just smirked and waved the piece of paper about. “He’s my Godfather, I’m going to find her!”

“And what? Manipulate her into giving you everything, I don’t think so!”

“Boys!” McGonagall shouted. “The kindest thing you can do for Severus is to put aside your differences and do what he’s asked. This has nothing to do with your childish rivalry, instead it’s about a woman that Severus clearly trusts enough to have everything he owns. Find her. If it’s true that she’s a Muggle, then my guess is that she’s worried about him because he’s vanished from her life for over four years. Be mindful when you find her, since you’ll be turning up on her doorstep to tell her that all of her worrying has been justified because he is now dead!”

Harry clamped his mouth shut. McGonagall still scared him when she shouted, and she seemed to have the same effect on Malfoy.

“Thank-you for being discreet about this, Reginald,” said McGonagall. “It’s much appreciated.”

“You’re welcome,” he sighed. “I’ll take my leave now.”

Harry watched him disappear through the fireplace, then he turned to Hermione. “Let’s go.”

“I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, Potter!” Malfoy snapped and Harry looked over his shoulder and plastered a fake smile on his face.

“Can’t wait.”


	3. ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’

Chapter Three: ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’

_ 25th September, 2002. _

Veronica listened to the music coming from the stereo. The recreation room was filled with a light melody and the rhythmic tap of chess pieces against boards. She glanced out the corner of her eyes at the avid players and wondered what it was that they found so interesting about it. She always struggled to hold an interest in things for long; her longest hobby was writing but that was her obsession. It was just like Ben’s obsession with rocks, and Nick’s love for trains. She wasn’t allowed much time to write, and she certainly wasn’t allowed to in private. So, when she got the chance to do so it was short and sweet, and certainly none of her greatest work since the Psychs had to read everything she wrote just incase she was suicidal.

But she wasn’t. Yes, she joked about killing herself often, but she’d been surrounded by people all her life that did the same thing. So it was normal...right?

On her bad days the tapping would drive her insane, and on her good days it still did but she could manage the anxiety it caused. She glanced up at the clock and realised it was almost time for lunch. She appreciated the cooks that worked here. They catered to their autistic taste buds. Most of them preferred bland foods or foods that had a certain texture. All of them showed reluctance to try new things and preferred to stick to what they knew. Veronica always had a sausage roll for lunch, and then she’d have pizza for dinner. She took a few more risks when it came to breakfast and it often reflected her mood that day.

_ Today’s my birthday.  _ She was now twenty-six years old, and Dr Mayson and Olga had given her a card this morning and she would get some sweets of her choice as dessert. It wasn’t much but it was enough to remind her that people remembered her. However, nothing would compare to the birthday she’d had a few years ago. She’d been given an emerald necklace, but she’d thrown it away almost a year later. 

A hand moved suddenly to her right and she watched Gabriel smack the side of his head in frustration. She saw that the only Psych around was busy helping Joshua with his drawing. So, Veronica got up from the chair and walked over and pulled up a chair beside him.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, her voice soft and airy.

“It won’t go in!” He snapped in frustration and pushed the book away from him. “Don’t make sense! None of it does.”

Veronica smiled at him and then grabbed the textbook. It was a complex maths equation that she had no knowledge of. Had it been language or literature she would’ve been able to help him. However, she knew how to help him unravel the mess that was hurting his mind, because that's what it did to all of them. 

Whenever she couldn’t understand things — no matter how many times someone tried to explain it to her — she’d instantly get a headache and her body would go all tight as she became frustrated. Whenever it happened as a child, she always assumed everyone felt that way. It turns out she was wrong, just like she was wrong about other things. 

“Everything all right here?” The Psych, Emily, came over with a look on her face that Veronica couldn’t read. For all she knew, Emily was sad. 

That was another struggle that Veronica faced, and it annoyed her daily. Some people she could read like an open book while others she couldn’t. They didn’t need to be these scary, cold faced people, it could be anyone, like Emily. She just couldn’t read her facial expressions well.

Emily could smile at her and Veronica either thought she was angry at her or being mean, but never happy. She never thought Emily was happy whenever she smiled. The same went for the Psych, Brandon, he says ‘hello’ to her every morning, and the damned fool could skip down the corridor scattering rose petals and smile as he greeted her in the morning, and Veronica would still think he was angry at her about something.

It was difficult and unbelievably frustrating, especially when one was aware of it. The people living alongside her did have more extreme cases of Autism, but they were all autistic nonetheless. Lucy, another resident of the institute, was absolutely perfect at picking up social cues, while Veronica wasn’t. However, Veronica was still sociable despite that and found it easy to relate to others while Lucy preferred to shut herself away. Each and every one of them could relate to a certain thing; however, a lot of them weren’t self aware.

Veronica was.

As soon as she got diagnosed, she asked to have books so she could know everything about Autism. It had helped her in so many ways. She managed to notice the signs early before a panic attack would hit. She was now able to identify the specific things that caused them. For those who aren’t autistic and have anxiety, it tends to be more noticeable things that bring on panic attacks, such as public speaking or going into a new environment. However, Veronica’s panic attacks could be caused by an irritating noise or one that is too loud and sudden; it could be caused by the way someone has spoken to her out of their usual tone; in some cases it’s even caused because her morning routine ended up being a minute behind. Heck, she even wakes up sometimes in the middle of a panic attack because of something she dreamt about.

It was a lot. She was always going to be a lot. However, she was glad that she knew about the Autism now. Yes, she wished she could’ve got the diagnosis as a child to make growing up less traumatic, but at least now she knew she wasn’t weird. Growing up she’d always done her best to act the way her friends did. She would copy the way they dressed, spoke and behaved because they got attention and reactions from other people. Yes, plenty of non-autistic people do the same thing, but she would do it unconsciously. She’d end up six months into friendships and realise she didn’t believe any of the stuff she was saying or liked the way she dressed, so she’d fall out with them. However, Veronica thought that it was normal, she thought that everybody copied others around them and then changed friendship groups, only to try to be like their new friends.

It was always going to be complicated. However, some may view Veronica as lucky, because what most of the women had over the men here was their ability to mask their symptoms. She’d once heard Dr Mayson say that autistic women would make amazing actresses, and it was true. She could talk in front of a group of people, smiling away, maintaining eye contact and talking clearly without appearing nervous if she needed to. However, that was her simply masking to adapt in a situation, and the aftermath wasn’t pretty. She remembered having to present once in school, and she managed to get through it, and although she was anxious about it, it didn’t take much to get her up there in front of the class. But afterwards, she’d gone back to the orphanage and threw up everywhere, then shut herself in her room and slept for three days straight. 

And no one who worked at the orphanage thought that was weird. Nobody thought to question why giving a presentation had sent her into a catatonic state for three days. Thinking about it now, she clearly saw all the signs of Autism, but no one was educated enough to notice. And those that claimed to be, were never professionals nor had they read up on females with Autism.

It was always just going to be one of those things. She hoped to get out of the institute and become a psychologist herself. She wanted to help people like her and contribute research into the field.

Yes, that sounded perfect.

Except…

Except for…

Veronica allowed Emily to take her seat and she glanced over at the large archway that led to the foyer. He stood there in black robes with a grey beard and long black hair. The elderly man was tall and skinny, and the signs of his age were emphasised by the lines on his face. 

This wasn’t normal.

None of what she was seeing was normal.

However, Veronica always liked to be seen as friendly. So, just like always, she smiled and waved at him and he glared back at her. 

And then, well then she would do the one thing that was keeping her trapped in the institute, she interacted with him.

“Hi Salazar!” Veronica skipped over and placed her hands on her hips. Her white dress and beige cardigan was a sharp contrast to his black outfit. She often thought they represented the light and dark side of life. Her blonde hair and his black, their clothes and their attitude, they were always opposites of each other. The only thing that was the same about them was that they could see each other. 

“You are awfully chipper,” he muttered.

“Well, it is my birthday.”

“Congratulations,” he said unenthusiastically. “Would you like a present?”

Veronica’s face lit up with joy. “Yes, I would! I can’t believe you got me a present—“ he stuck up his middle finger at her and she slammed her mouth shut. There she went again missing the sarcastic tone he used when speaking. “That’s just mean, you know I’m slow.”

He smirked. “Now where’s the fun in being nice.”

She moved to hit his arm but soon remembered that it would only pass through him. She became aware of eyes on her and she realised Psych Emily was watching her closely. “C’mon, I don’t want people thinking I’m delusional on my birthday,” she stepped into the foyer and made her way up the staircase. Those she passed she smiled at as a front. Of course she was happy, but not always, it was just that she’d learnt to smile while in the institute so Psychs wouldn’t ask questions.

If they truly knew her mental state beyond Autism, they’d never want her to leave. She was good at pretending like things were all right, and along the way of learning such a thing, she’d also found out how easily she could manipulate people. It wasn’t something she used often, but it came in handy during therapy. There were some things she would take to the grave; there were some things she couldn’t explain otherwise she’d be sent to an awful institute where they abuse people with her delusions.

Veronica walked into her room. It was grey with plain bedding and a single chair near the barred window. None of the rooms had doors on so someone could always keep an eye on them. She found it invasive, but she’d go along with anything if it got her out of this place sooner. It wasn’t that the institute was torturous, everyone here was kind to her, but she just wanted normality back. Plus, she hated the way everyone treated her — like she was simple. Those with Autism have a unique form of intelligence, but it didn’t stop professionals speaking to them like they were dumb. 

Also, she hated the loneliness that came with being here. She’d long discovered that she enjoyed having people around her. Most of the time she just liked the presence of a person rather than the chat. 

“Seeing these bland walls never gets easier,” Salazar remarked.

“You don’t have to live here, so don’t complain,” she sat down on her bed with a sigh. 

“You’d be spending your time outside in the real world had you not tried to publicly kill yourself,” he smirked as he sat down in the chair. 

She glared over at him.

Still, after all these years, she was shocked each time he said something cruel. She often thought they were friends, but friends wouldn’t say things like that. 

Veronica flinched away from the memory that his words had brought forwards. Yes, she’d tried to kill herself publicly, but rightfully so. The night she did it was the night Salazar had first appeared in front of her. It was also the same day that ‘He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’ abandoned her. None of it was pleasant to think about. She’d messed up by mentioning his name to Ben a few days ago because she couldn't get him out of her head. 

“I don’t like you sometimes,” she said, and she immediately felt bad for being so mean, but she doubted he felt the same way when he said things like that to her. 

“Good,” he closed his eyes as he relaxed in the chair. “You’re learning.”

“Learning what?”

“You managed to read one of those social cues you keep going on about.”

Veronica turned away from him and stared down at the floor angrily. She really did hate him sometimes. She had no idea why she could see him, and some of the crazy things he came out with made her think that she was perhaps insane for imagining him. He spoke about magic, and during the first year he appeared, he was adamant that he was a highly respected wizard. She’d laughed at him most times and thanked him for the bedtime story. He’d long given up on trying to convince her that magic was real. 

_ Magic,  _ she smirked to herself.  _ If magic was real I’d portal myself out of this place. _

“Why don’t you try to escape?” he asked suddenly.

“I don’t have the courage to take on such a task,” she said. “Although I don’t like it here, I still have company. I don’t think I’d have much of that if I went home. Not after my public meltdown.”

“Shame, I’d love to see it happen again. It was quite entertaining. Especially for a Muggle.”

She hated when he called her that. There was something about it that angered her, because she knew he didn’t mean it as a term of endearment.

“It’s not normal for me to see you. I think anyone who wouldn’t have a breakdown is weird.”

He rolled his eyes. “Still, I’d pay galleons to see it again.”

“What’s a galleon?”

He grumbled under his breath then sighed. “Don’t worry your ugly head about it.”

Her bottom lip poked out. She knew she wasn’t appealing to everyone, but someone had once called her beautiful and sounded genuine about it, so it had to mean she wasn’t completely ugly. Perhaps only half-ugly.

She sighed and fell back against her bed. “If I had it my way I’d be living in the countryside in a cottage.”

“How fun,” he drawled.

“It’s my dream to live in such a place and grow my own flowers and crops.”

“Riveting.”

“It truly is,” she sat up and smiled over at him, however it faltered when she saw the thin line his mouth rested in. “Oh, you’re being sarcastic...I’m getting better at reading you. Although, you are a figment of my imagination, I could just imagine you to be easier to read.”

“I’m not a part of your imagination, girl!”

She crossed her legs and rested her hands in her lap. “Yes you are...although, I do wish I could imagine someone who is more kind.”

He glared at her. “Such as your mysterious lover?”

She felt her heart drop. He couldn’t possibly know. She’d been careful never to mention it to him. “What?” 

“I’ve seen many broken hearted maidens in my time,” he looked her up and down. “We’ve been alongside one another for years now. You don’t talk about it but I’m not blind. Let me guess, you wanted to settle down in your cottage with this fellow.”

“That just proves you are a part of my imagination.”

“No, I’m just a good judge of character,” he leaned over the arm of the chair. “So what happened? Is he why you slit your wrists in front of a crowd?”

She instinctively flinched and grabbed hold of her right wrist where the scar was, and there was a matching one on her left. 

“Why do you always bring that night up? I’ve asked you not to.”

“Well, silly child, if I’m a figment of your imagination make me stop.”

Veronica tried to do just that. She clenched her eyes shut and wished for him to shut up and go away. She opened her eyes slowly, only to find him still sitting there smirking. She grabbed her pillow and buried her face into it.

She was never going to be let out at this rate, and it was all thanks to him. It made no sense for her to be delusional, there were no signs pointing towards such a condition. 

“So this man—“

“I don’t want to talk about it!” She snapped. “I don’t pry into your life, so please offer me the same courtesy.”

He hummed. “Fair enough.”

She really didn’t want to talk about it. She hardly ever thought about him anymore.  _ It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t matter.  _ That wasn’t the truth, but Veronica knew that opening that part of her mind she’d kept buried away would only worsen the situation. She wasn’t ready to have another breakdown. She wasn’t prepared for the hysterical crying and screaming. Her whole life has been full of disappointments, and he was just another that she’d expected to happen. Albeit, briefly, she entertained the idea of him whisking her away to her cottage in the countryside, but she’d meant nothing to him. 

“Veronica,” she turned to look at Olga. “You’ve got a visitor.”

“W-What?” She stammered as she tossed aside her pillow. “I’ve never had one before.”

Olga smiled. “Well there’s a very eager man waiting to see you downstairs.”

Veronica’s body suddenly flooded with anxiety. “Who? Who is it?”

“Severus Snape.”

Veronica’s eyes filled with tears. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. Her body moved before her mind could list all the reasons for her to stay in her room. She raced down the long hallway and down the staircase. Visitors usually went into the canteen, so she stopped at the bottom of the stairs in the foyer and tried to gain control of her breathing.

This was it. 

She was going to face the man who had broken her heart. She was about to face the man she’d been secretly longing for every night, hoping that one day he’d turn up and take her away. She caught sight of her reflection in the window and flattened down her wild hair, then with a few reassuring words to herself, she walked into the canteen.

And whatever fake smile she’d hoped to plaster on her face didn’t make it onto her lips. She paused in the archway as she stared over at the man sat at the table.

It wasn’t him.

She wasn’t going to get the chance to shout at him like he had to her. She wasn’t going to be able to make him feel bad for abandoning her after promising her everything. 

No, she wasn’t going to be allowed any of that.

But none of that mattered right now. 

Veronica’s hackles went up and her nice façade slipped away.

“And who the fuck are you?”


	4. Forgotten About

Chapter Four: Forgotten About

_ 25th September, 2002. _

Harry stared at all the parchment spread out along his kitchen table at Grimmauld Place. Hermione kept pulling more records out of her never-ending bag while Ron and Luna picked up random ones then returned them to the pile.

“This is every record I could possibly find of the name Veronica, all of them are alive right now and living in Britain,” Hermione explained. “It’s a lot, but with our sound deduction skills I’m sure we can do it.”

“Are you kidding me?!” Harry exclaimed. “This is impossible! We’re never going to find her.”

“I could ask the Yoldernickles to help,” said Luna.

“Luna now isn’t the time for your made up—“

“Ronald!” Hermione snapped. “Now isn’t the time to be rude to your friends.”

He muttered something under his breath then sat down. Hermione still had that threatening tone that whipped Ron into shape. The pair had grown apart after the war due to the kiss they’d shared, but after Harry’s persistence and Luna’s encouraging words, they were back to being best friends. But no one ever mentioned the kiss or the insane amount of jealousy both parties had felt at some point. 

“I still can’t believe Snape would leave everything to some random woman,” said Ron as he picked up a record. “The man’s insane. What if he fancied her like he did your mum?”

Harry was trying not to think about that. Snape had loved his mother for so long that it kind of unsettled him that he might’ve moved on.

“And so what if he did?” Hermione retorted as she poured herself a cup of tea. “I’m sure he’s capable of love.”

Ron curled his lip in disgust. “She has to be ugly though...to, you know, love him.”

“Love is subjective,” said Luna. 

“That’s girly fluff.”

Harry rolled his eyes and picked up a handful of records. He didn’t have time for Ron’s childish comments. The quicker he could hunt down Veronica, the quicker he could move on from Snape and live his life.

“Shouldn’t Draco be here?” asked Luna.

Harry caught sight of Hermione gesturing to Luna for her to shut up, and she innocently smiled at him when they locked eyes. 

“We can do this without that slimy bastard,” added Ron. “I bet we’ll find her first.”

Hermione cleared her throat and put down her cup of tea. “Perhaps we could use an extra pair of hands—“

“No!” Both Harry and Ron snapped.

“He’s not coming into my house,” said Harry.

He’d rather be hit by a thousand Crucios than have him coming into his abode. Harry wanted to stay far away from him. He’d received the news that they wouldn’t be on the same team in the Auror department. To begin with Harry had jumped for joy, but then he was told that Malfoy would be in the room next door where he’d have to share the same recreation room. 

_ And apparently both of the teams regularly socialise and get along well.  _ So to say Harry was pissed was an understatement. When they told him the news, he ran home in order to avoid any questioning from Malfoy. He could do this without the blond gits input.

“Could I invite Neville to help?” asked Luna.

Harry nodded over at her. Everyone had speculated whether they were dating, but Harry could see that they were only friends. Neville seemed fascinated by her personality but that was it, and Luna seemingly liked the company. Neville was now back at Hogwarts training under Professor Sprout, but McGonagall allowed him a lot of freedom to go about as he pleased. He spent a lot of time at The Quibbler’s office, and Hermione had often expressed her annoyance towards it as he distracted Luna from her work. 

Luna left the kitchen and Ron suddenly sighed. “I give up.”

“You’ve only looked at one record you sod,” Harry chuckled and took the drink Hermione offered him. “We have to do this. She must be important to him.”

“And how do you feel about that?” Hermione asked.

“I feel…” he knew he needed to be mature about this. “He already knew he was going to his death. And he wrote the Will on the same day, so she was one of the last things on his mind. I know I should let go of the idea that he was obsessed with my mum, but it’s just hard…”

Hermione sat down next to him and smiled sadly. “Snape was already in an unfortunate situation when your mum died. Yes, he loved her at one point when they were children, but we don’t know that he felt the same as they got older. However, having her die was probably the last thing he needed to get over her. He needed her forgiveness and he couldn’t get it, so he ended up trapped in a vicious cycle. A part of him probably did still love your mother as an adult, but I don’t think he was  _ in  _ love with her. Having you in school might have just reminded him of his past mistakes and made his road to atonement a lot harder.”

“How do you even come up with that stuff?” Ron laughed. 

Harry chuckled as well and quickly pulled her into a hug. “Thank-you for always knowing what to say.”

“At least someone appreciates it,” she pinned Ron with a glare. “Right! Let’s get to it!”

They all got to work and started to read all of the records. Harry immediately disposed of any Veronicas over fifty, assuming that the woman in question was around Snape’s age or younger. The mound of records started to go down eventually by the time Luna arrived with Neville. The extra pair of hands was useful, that was until Ron started to mess around with Neville and the pair ended up throwing biscuits at one another.

“Children!” Hermione stopped rummaging through the files. “If you’ve had enough, just go home.”

Ron smirked and shoved a biscuit into his mouth then threw an arm over Neville’s shoulder. “Pub?”

“I’d love a pint right now,” replied Neville with a smirk. “Anyone else?”

“I need to go back to the office and check everything’s ready for printing tomorrow,” said Luna.

“That’s all right, everyone can take off now,” Harry said. “Thanks for the help.”

Hermione kissed him good-bye and he watched them leave with a smile. His table was no longer a place to eat, and he found himself pinching the bridge of his nose. Snape was starting to invade his life, and the man was dead. He should’ve known someone would eventually come for him from the grave. 

He picked up a random record and scanned the information. It was annoying that none of the papers had pictures on. Perhaps it would be easier for them to identify Snape’s type. But something within Harry knew they’d end up with a pile of redheads; he wasn’t exactly going to be attracted to someone with blonde hair and no decorum. 

_ I wonder what Snape would be doing right now had he not died… _

Harry wasn’t sure where the thought had come from, but he was curious about it. He’d like to think that he would’ve returned to teaching potions, but a part of him knew that he would have fled the country and hid away somewhere quiet. Or perhaps he would’ve disappeared into the countryside and lived in a cottage where he could grow potion ingredients. Harry did wonder whether they would be in contact still — probably not if Snape had anything to do with it.

Suddenly, a bird started tapping at his window. Harry got to his feet with a grumble and retrieved the letter it carried. He ripped it open quickly, only to pause then rub his forehead.

_ I know what you are doing. Sucks to be you, Potter, I’ve already found her. _

Harry pulled out his wand and set the note on fire.  _ How has he already found her?!  _ He was furious. And in his blind rage he ran out into the garden and disapparated. He appeared near the border of Malfoy Manor, and without any hesitation, he marched onto the property to give him a piece of his mind.

He hated him. He wanted to kill him. Everywhere he went the damned git was there smirking. Why couldn’t he be free of him? And why did he let Malfoy get to him so much? There were some nights where he couldn’t sleep because he was always on his mind.  _ I truly hate him. _

Harry smacked his fists against the doors and tapped his foot impatiently. The doors soon opened to reveal a smirking Malfoy. “Ah, Potter, what a surprise!”

“You pompous arse! How did you manage to find her before us?” Harry stepped towards him so they were toe-to-toe. 

There was something odd about being close to Malfoy; it caused something warm to lace around his stomach, and he knew that meant he was beyond angry. 

“So you were trying to find her without me?” Malfoy moved his face closer, and Harry wanted to reel away from the feel of his breath against his lips, but he wouldn’t give Malfoy the satisfaction of knowing he’d got to him. 

“And so what? You’re doing the same as well.”

Malfoy smirked. “I haven’t actually found her. I just wanted to know whether you were going against Snape’s wishes.”

“Hey!” Harry jabbed a finger into his chest. “He only wrote our names, not what we should do.”

He shrugged. “Still, he’s a dead man, Potter. Have a heart.”

Harry growled. “I really  _ fucking  _ hate you.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of Malfoy’s mouth, and Harry’s eyes stared down at his lips for a brief moment. Malfoy caught onto his staring and the pair locked eyes and dared the other to back down. 

He hated him. Perhaps Hermione was right and he needed to see a therapist because this amount of hate and anger wasn’t healthy. He needed to find a way to remove Malfoy from his life, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to move on from Hogwarts and everything that came with it. 

“Get a room!” Pansy appeared behind Malfoy. 

“Gross—“ Harry belched

“—Disgusting!” said Malfoy at the same time. They stepped away from one another and Malfoy blocked the doorway. 

“Go away now, Potter.”

Pansy barged past Malfoy and crossed her arms. “Do you have any leads?”

Harry debated on whether to tell them the truth. They did need extra people to help them get through the records, and it was Snape’s dying wish to have them find her.  _ Why couldn’t he have just left her address? _

“I...we...I’ll be back.”

Harry journeyed back to Grimmauld Place and shrank the records on the table and filled his coat pockets with them. Then, he returned to Malfoy Manor muttering under his breath and he was greeted at the door by Blaise, who looked annoyed to be at the manor in general. Harry followed him inside and he was led into the grand dining hall. The table seemingly stretched for miles, and at the end of it sat Malfoy pouring himself a firewhiskey.

“What’s so important that you had to scurry away?” Malfoy sipped his drink and avoided Pansy’s quick hands that tried to take it away from him. Harry prepared himself to snap back a remark, but he was shocked by the sad look on Pansy’s face as she backed down from Malfoy.

_ What’s that all about?  _ Pansy sighed and sat down at the table. Harry approached them and began to empty his pockets and expand all the records until they covered the far end of the table. He finished with an awkward smile while scratching his head.

“This is every record of the name Veronica,” he explained. “We’ve started to remove any who are over fifty as we guessed he wouldn’t have an older...lover.”

“Why do you assume he had a lover?” Malfoy quipped over his glass. “Like I said, he would’ve told me if he had a—“

“You don’t know that!” snapped Blaise, and Harry was surprised to see he was glaring at Malfoy. 

_ What’s going on?  _ Harry felt like he was intruding on some Slytherin business, but no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t leave. 

“We’re using common sense while going through these records, and if we happen to be wrong, then we’ll go through them again,” explained Harry. “It’s going to take a long time, but Snape has left us nothing to go off. Hermione did say that she might have been an orphan, but she can’t be too sure since she might’ve just not given him her last name. I’m still confident that Veronica is a Muggle as Snape would’ve been caught going around with a Witch.”

Pansy poured herself a glass of water then grabbed a record. “Where did you get all of this?”

“Hermione,” Harry smiled.

“Know-it-all,” Pansy muttered, and Harry curled his lip and roughly grabbed a record. He needed to remain calm. He didn’t have Hermione around to stop him from lashing out, and right now would be the wrong time to do so. He had to save any violence for after they found Veronica. 

_ But I will eventually get the chance to strangle Malfoy! _

“Where did she get all of this?” asked Blaise.

“You do know that there’s a department in the Ministry that keeps track of every Muggle?”

The three Slytherins stared at him in shock.

“Wait...you don’t know?” He had to stifle his laugh. “Of course you don’t know.”

“Since when?” Pansy asked.

“Since forever,” said Harry. “They keep track of everything just incase someone needs to be tracked down. The records show all of their details along with places of work and anything of major importance. Hermione said that they do miss out on some things, but the records are only meant as a purpose to track someone down quickly. It would’ve been easier if we had a last name or a date of birth — we probably would’ve found her by now.”

“How did we not know that place existed?” Blaise whispered.

“Oh well,” muttered Malfoy. “It’s wasted Ministry money if you ask me.”

Harry bit back his comment and focused on the records.

They got to work in silence. Blaise moved through each record quicker than the rest, and Harry knew that he was as good as Hermione when it came to deduction. However, Malfoy might as well have not tried. He kept getting up to retrieve more whiskey, and Harry noticed the looks Pansy and Blaise were sharing each time he did. Harry tried his best to ignore it, but the longer it went on and the more haggard Malfoy’s appearance got, it became harder to keep his mouth shut.

It was going to take forever to find Veronica, and at this rate, Malfoy was only holding them back. 

Suddenly, Pansy chuckled down at the record in front of her.

“What is it?” asked Harry.

“This kind of feels like we’re trying to find the best person for Snape to date if he was alive,” she smiled with tired eyes. “He’d be livid at the idea.”

“I suppose so,” replied Harry.

“Look at this Veronica,” she cleared her throat. “Twenty-six and worked as a barmaid. Can you imagine Snape falling for someone who worked at a pub?”

“Can you imagine Snape at a Muggle pub?” Blaise laughed. “He wouldn’t exactly fit in.”

“Of course he wouldn’t fit in, he was a miserable old git,” said Malfoy before he drained his glass. “Plus he wouldn’t go there because it’s filled with loud and annoying Muggles.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at him, and Malfoy caught his glare and returned it. “Why do you have a problem with Snape being with someone?”

“I don’t,” he grunted. “He just wouldn’t go after a Muggle, not after the last filthy Muggle breed he went after.”

Harry shot to his feet and raced towards the end of the table, but Blaise blocked his path. The Slytherin wasn’t rough as he guided him back to his chair, but that didn’t register to Harry until a couple of days later. All Harry could focus on was Hermione’s voice in his head trying to get him to calm down.

Killing Malfoy would go against Snape’s last wish, but once they’d done what he’d asked of them, then there was nothing holding him back. 

“I’m throwing this one in the toss pile. There’s no way Snape fell in love with a barmaid.”

Harry probably should’ve stopped her, but he was tired and too busy plotting ways to kill Malfoy. Pansy threw the record in the pile to be forgotten about, and had Hermione been with them she would’ve noticed something about the record: it wasn’t up-to-date. All of the records they were going through had an entry within the last two years, but the Veronica that Pansy had tossed away hadn’t been updated for years. And had Harry looked at the record properly or had Pansy not been preoccupied with staring at Malfoy, she might’ve picked up that the discarded Veronica had no last name.

And once again, Veronica was forgotten about. 


End file.
